That which is sought is ever elusive, though it seems so close—like the distant clamor of a battle echoing through a dream, or the thunderous roar that startles the tranquil mind but cannot be grasped. It is as intangible as a city conjured by the imagination within a forgotten dream, or as the dim forms of a festive garden in a city not yet built, shadows that never truly take shape. It is like the vivid tales spoken by a tongue that is vanishing, leaving only the memory of their intensity, or like a wall that appears adorned with pictures never actually drawn—existing solely within the mind’s canvas. Just as a city imagined gradually fades from memory, or as the clear image of a beloved who has never appeared in any season, so too does this reality slip away. It is like the joy of spring coloring the promise of flowers yet to bloom, or a gentle river whose waves have merged and disappeared within itself. Now, the teaching called 'Liberation' is presented as the sixth section, and all that follows in this scripture is to be understood as imparting profound meaning. Within that pure intellect abides the listener—one whose very nature is peace, who embodies the conception of nirvana. This one’s essence is illumination itself, shining upon both the sentient and the insentient, knowledge incarnate, utterly free from affliction. Released from all delusions about the existence of things, having emerged from the supreme, space-like sheath, the journey of worldly wandering ceases. He stands firm, having fulfilled all duties. He is like the vast sky, an adamantine pillar unshaken by any beginning or expansion. Having swallowed the entire web of the world, he is wholly satisfied. His mind and disposition are sky-like—devoid of all forms, having abandoned the tenfold states of agent, effect, cause, and the rest. Though still embodied, he is as if without a body; though present in samsara, he remains untouched by transmigration—his being is pure consciousness, like the interior of solid rock. Though his consciousness shines like the sun in the world, he seems to dwell in the darkness of a cave; though his form is the highest illumination, he appears to have attained utter blindness. His play in the world is gentle and restrained; the fever of desire is spent, the goblin of ego destroyed—he has a body, yet is as if bodiless. In some tiny pore at the tip of his hair, the glory of the world abides, just as a bee might dwell within the flower of the great Meru mountain. Within the recesses of consciousness-space, in each atom, countless worlds are held and observed. O wise one, even if the heart were expanded by hundreds of waters from the lotus of Hari and Hara, it could not compare to the expansion found in one who is liberated—for in what is unreal, there is no true expansion. In this pure awareness alone, supreme knowledge arises, just as a good fruit inevitably grows from a well-sown seed. Even if a scripture is authored by a human, it should be accepted if it conveys sound reasoning; otherwise, even if it comes from a sage, it should be set aside by one devoted solely to logic. A statement grounded in reason should be accepted, even if spoken by a child; anything else, even if uttered by the lotus-born, should be discarded like straw. Who can instruct the one who clings to attachment, who drinks from a bitter well simply because it belonged to his father, while rejecting the Ganges flowing freely before him? Just as light inevitably appears when a lamp is lit, so too does one’s own discernment arise in the field of pure awareness. Whether through hearing wise words or through one’s own understanding, gradually, through inquiry, impressions are established in the intellect. First, there arises within a strong command of refined speech—pure and lofty, like a string of pearls, becoming the ornament of the assembly hall. Then, supreme dispassion awakens, endowed with greatness, by which even formidable kings are drawn into friendship. A person who knows both past and future becomes wise in all matters, like one holding a lamp at night who clearly sees all objects. Defects such as greed and delusion gradually fade, just as autumn mists recede as the season advances. The intellect depends solely on the practice of discernment; no action bears fruit without its repeated exercise. The mind attains clarity, like a great lake in autumn, and reaches supreme tranquility, like the ocean when its waves are stilled. All inner darkness is dispelled, like a thunderbolt shattering a mass of clouds, as discernment blazes forth, illuminating the distinctions among things. Misery, poverty, and suffering are seen for what they are—mere appearances that do not pierce the core, just as blunted arrows cannot wound the vital parts. The terrifying fears of worldly existence do not shake the heart of the wise, even when they stand before him, just as a great stone is unmoved by the fluttering of birds. Questions such as, “How do birth and action arise? What is fate and what is manhood?”—all these doubts vanish as darkness is dispelled by the day. In every way, in all things, attachment ceases when the light of wisdom arises, just as the night surrenders to the dawn. Depth like the ocean, steadfastness like Mount Meru, and inner coolness like the moon—these qualities arise in the one who inquires. That state of living liberation gradually matures within him, and, entering the yogi whose doubts are completely pacified, it becomes firmly established. His intellect, cool to all objects, pure, and bestowing supreme illumination, attains the highest light, like the full radiance of the entire moon. In the sky of the heart, where the sun of discernment shines—pure with the light of tranquility—the seeds of misfortune do not arise. Desires subside, become pure, remain gentle and humble, and, unmoving and inert, vanish like clusters of autumn clouds. Whatever act, however stern, brings about the abandonment of coarse behavior, is like the coming of day dispersing the miserable faces of ghouls. Afflictions do not plunder a mind firmly rooted in virtue and harnessed to courage, just as the winds cannot strip away a wondrous creeper.